Trio in Discretion
by Hija de la Tempestad
Summary: So, what happens when a pair of naughty tieflings decide to take things one step further with a certain paladin? Silly situations, thievery, a jealous ranger, a worried uncle, an amused wizard, much ale and two faced personalities will meet our only and one Trio in Discretion! Because rules are made to break them. A little bit of Smutty McSmut. Don't say I didn't warn you hehehe.
1. The lesser of two devils

_**"Trio In Discretion"**_

* * *

 **Cap. 01:** _ **The lesser of two devils.**_

* * *

\- There he is.

A pair of cat-like yellow eyes gleamed mischievously as they contemplated, almost hungrily, the unguarded prey in front of them, barely a few meters from their hiding spot, next to the tavern's fireplace... reading that utterly _boring_ book of his _again_.

Her new toy, her newly discovered pastime. Poor bastard didn't know what was about to land upon him.

\- Awww... isn't he cute? So big, so dour, so serious... so defenseless...

Another pair of cat-like eyes, burgundy tinted this time, observed the previous word's owner with narrowed eyelids.

\- You sure? - asked this second one with a thin layer of insecurity coating her high-pitched voice – I mean... that holy hammer beside his chair surely looks big enough... And, as much as I like to annoy him from time to time, I don't want to know how much pain that thing could inflict. I'm... delicate, you know.

The first one, leader of a ragtag gang of misfits, thief, Harborman and the most naughty catty prankish tiefling she had meet in all her entire delictive life as a rogue, smiled so widely that her pale and dainty features mutated, giving her an impish look; her feline yellow eyes shining brightly like a little girl's.

Owch, she _adored_ that face for sure.

\- C'mon Neesh. - she pouted, pressing slowly, sensuously, her lips with that long-nailed finger of hers – He never tried to bash your skull before, right?

\- Yeah, but those previous times he was _unarmed_. - the other woman reasoned – And in that last one he was literally _fuming_. Don't wanna put that mastodon on the edge.

The yellow-eyed tiefling smirked, clearly amused by her friend reservations.

\- Paladin, remember? All that gentlemanish, Lawful and Good stuff rings a bell to you?

\- Hey, being Lawful and Good doesn't mean always being NICE. - pointed out her comrade in mischief, crossing her arms.

\- With a backside as NICE as that one, I think he has all the niceness enough on him. - she muttered absently.

\- What?

\- Nay, nothing. - she discarded, undulating a hand – Let's play _Poke the Paladin,_ yay! - she declared before taking her companion's wrist and dragging the other tiefling in their mission.

Sighing deeply, Neeshka obliged. But not because she wanted that day particularly to annoy the man with yet another prank of her imaginative leader.

No.

They already had much fun with the paladin and this was starting to become an old joke.

When they first encountered him in that blasted place surrounded by endless mountain range, full of dust, slopes... orcs... and completely devoid of vegetation and water despite being called "Old Owl Well", she had – along with their leader – experienced what was most common to tieflings around holy rollers: skin itching.

And no, not _that_ kind of itching, mind you, but the most searing annoying sensation like when you burn your skin after way too many hours under summer sun without the due protection.

That's what you got having Lower Planes blood running in your veins and sticking with boring-to-death holy warriors. First your skin itches for nature-collision issues... then later, when you adjust yourself to the constant presence of a do-gooder... that's when your skin starts to itch _again_ when you try to know the dude a little bit being nice, forthcoming and stuff... and crash yourself with a huge wall made of bricks.

She could not stand people who took their obligations so seriously to-the-letter and NEVER EVER smiled.

But her tiefling leader seemed to think otherwise.

So they approached the unguarded and stern goodie-two-shoes, slowly, quietly, with the finesse and craft of two experienced cutpurses, melting with the shadows, reaching in no moment his neck nape resting against the chair's backrest... savoring the very fleeting moment before...

\- YO, CASAVIR! WHAT ARE YOU READING, PALLY?!

Right next to his ear.

The due reaction to that loud shouting did not falter: in less than a heartbeat, the book resting in his hands went flying backwards in what looked almost slow-motion then, at the very same moment, the tall man stood up with his right hand holding up that monstrosity of a hammer with instinctive precision born of his martial training, tense, ready for a battle.

However, when he heard behind him the tiny laughter of two voices he knew so well, he simply inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself and concentrate in his teachings about Tyr and His mercy instead of paying attention to that primal instinct that shouted him to run after those little horned devils and spank their respective rears until they didn't harbor any more feelings to put him teetering on the edge of nearly madness.

This was almost daily basis for him: he couldn't relax anywhere... even in his rented room on Duncan's place. Last time he tried to read there, avoiding purposefully company in search of that blessed-yet-elusive solitude he missed so much since he departed from Old Owl Well, the two fiendlings had made their way through the locked clench and were sitting on his bed, making that _I've-never-broke-a-dish-in-my-life_ face, swaying their tails like mesmerizing snakes when, suddenly, they had jumped from their seat and, before he could even construct a coherent phrase, ran away laughing and dodging him so easily that had left him stunned, completely speechless, wondering what in the Nine Hells was had just happened.

It was true that their... pranks were most of the time harmless (harmless if you didn't count his mental health and this little twitch the corner of his right eye sometimes made when their little mischief set him off badly), but... he was starting to run short of patience... and he was a patient man, for god's sake!

\- Duuuuuh... - he heard one of the voices, the Lady's voice to be more precise, moan with feigned weariness, showing matter-of-factly the discrete title on the cover embossed in leather and gold leaf: _"The Path of the Even Handed"_. – Again with the same book, Casavir? You never get tired of this disciplinary sacred stuff, do you? - she rolled her eyes melodramatically, holding the said tome between her delicate hands.

\- There's a lot of books to read, you know. - added Neeshka with both hands folded behind her back, looking almost like a petulant child – And there's a lot of genres to pick: Adventures, Historical, Drama, Biography, Poetry...

\- … Comedy... - the Lady added without hesitation and a big toothy smile decorating her not-so-innocent face.

\- Yeah, that one probably will cheer you up a little bit, man. - continued the redhead tiefling, now with an impish grin looking at the dumbfounded paladin before them – But there's also Romance, Tragedy, Military...

\- … Erotic... - said the Lady with an uncomfortable sultry-ish voice, wagging her eyebrows suggestively at the suddenly pale-faced man.

\- Well, that one _definitely_ will make your days brighter. - laughed the tiefling rogue with a sassy wink of her eye – You should try some of my... _personal_ stack. - and _that_ way of pronouncing the word "personal"... - They should be in good condition... although maybe they may come from... let's say, _dubious_ sources.

And with that, Casavir found himself speechless again. Speechless and white as a paper parchment. Thank Tyr that the Flagon was nearly empty at this hour, so it saved him the shame of the unwanted public witnessing the flamboyant spectacle the two devils were displaying.

So he took a deep breath and, with all the serenity he could muster, approached the Lady, who was still holding his book.

\- With your permission, my Lady, I would like my book back, please. - he said with that deep, resonating monotone voice of his, extending his palm with a mannered yet demanding gesture.

\- You sure? - asked the slender tiefling moving her hips from side to side while her hands made the tome dance before the paladin's eyes – You _really_ should try some of Neeshka's stuff. Maybe that will keep you warm these winter nights... despite your attitude, Sir Paladin.

\- My Lady, please, the book. - he intoned, not raising at the bait, not faltering a single syllable. All measured and controlled body language.

\- Awww... you're not funny. - she pouted, returning to him what was of his property, closing the distance between them with two long strides, making immediate contact to his chest with her own, a move the man had not predicted and unbalanced him just enough to her be able to reach his considerable height on tiptoes and... kiss him on the cheek, dangerously close to the left corner of his lips – _Enjoy_ the reading. - she added with that sultry-ish tone before slamming the book to his chest and making haste in run along with her fiendling companion in mischief, laughing musically.

As the laughing faded above the stairs that leaded to the guest rooms, Casavir remained still as a statue, holding his old tome to his chest, where the Lady slammed it after...

Not blinking, not risking even a single sound, his right hand came up to the left corner of his mouth, where that brief kiss still burned under his skin, and he swept his calloused fingertips over it.

That afternoon he was incapable of concentrating on his reading and eventually gave up in favor of some sword practicing in the tavern's barn, where his warhorse was munching hay nonchalantly meanwhile the paladin worked himself to sweat thoroughly.

He didn't know another way of liberate tension and, after all this time in near solitude just commanding a troupe of men who admired him but also regarded him not as a person, but as an icon, a heroic figure to follow and behold in the distance... after that, reconnecting with the social world was proving... unnerving.

He never understood quite well how to... ah... socialize properly.

He was a paladin, yes, and knew what to say to people in distress to soothe them and made them feel safe in order to bring some comfort to their lives or made them to collaborate, if necessary.

He was also a trained warrior, yes, and knew how to command, give neat and precise orders, instruct untrained people, give practical and tactical advise or rise the moral with words of encouragement when others needed it.

He was even a healer, yes, and knew the appropriate chants for each type of wound, working the will and mercy of Tyr through faith...

Yes, he was all of the previous things, which had made things relatively easier for him in social exchanges regards... but he knew that it was not enough. It never had been.

To act as a protector, a holy warrior of the Maimed God was an easy thing to do for him... but to actually act like a human being... well, that was simply... not meant for him.

Too much thinking, too many ways and options, too many faced feelings... that kiss... it thrilled him but, at the same time, repelled him with equal intensity. Why the first, he couldn't fathom; why the second, because he actually didn't know what to make of it.

Should he take it as another form of pranking? Or should he give it some further consideration?

Or perhaps that was the way of Harbormen to show some degree of affection to someone? True that the Lady and her tiefling companion Neeshka had given him some hard moments... but normally the Lady tended to treat him with cheerful comradeship, including him always in the group talks even when he purposefully stayed silent, trying always to bring him – even by force (not that any time before that particular method worked), trickery or simply invoking crocodile tears in those yellow eyes of hers – to the "parties" the misfit group celebrate after each little triumph... or each time the dwarf, Khelgar, choose to initiate one of his infamous drinking contests.

She even relied on him about some of the important decision regarding tactics in battlefield.

In short, she seemed to like him somehow... or, at least, tolerate with a copious amount of glee his presence despite telling him sometimes openly that he was _"boring-as-hell"_.

With all those thoughts swimming inside his head, Casavir ended up frankly exhausted both physical and mentally from training and munching the same doubts again, again and again.

Panting hard, letting the sweat drops drove downwards all over his body, feeling that liberating pulsing through his muscles and ribcage, savoring the sensation of tiring, head to toes sore from the exertion, he decided that a good, slow-almost-ritualistic bath was in order.

Not that he liked to reek of sweat and adrenaline, though.

* * *

With barely a whispered gasp, her eyes finally surrendered to the awakening sensations she had been experiencing for about ten delicious minutes. The pointy and very naughty tip of that wet tongue traveled down her neck deliberately slow meanwhile expert hands were dancing only their fingertips over the tanned and creamy surface of her skin, sometimes here, sometimes there, brushing sensitive areas, torturing her receptive nerves, sending electric waves along her spine.

The source of that bittersweet pleasure was looking at her intently, with that feline gaze fixed on her features, probing with her hands and lips new ways to play with her, to communicate with her through her body, invoking delicate sensations, honeying that gentle torture she was damn sure she was inflicting over the map of her companion's skin.

She was always delicate, always treating her body like some precious treasure to open and become lost in its golden and silvery corners, massaging her tense muscles until they became complacent, ready at her hand's commands.

She treated her old scars, a product of the life in the streets stealing and dealing with offended targets or thievery rivalry, with a strange sweetness that sometimes almost got her to the edge of tears; never ever someone had been this soft and gentle to her when having sex. Never. That's the thing when some rude brute wants to fuck a tiefling: they think that having Infernal blood makes you a wild beast in bed, all rough sex, cussing and sweating.

She had been accustomed to that kind of relations... until she, the yellow-eyed devil, broke through not only a well-made mask of kinky depravity... but also her own prejudices about having sex with another woman.

Do not misunderstand her situation: she knew that homosexuality existed and respected it... but she knew with pristine clarity that her thing was men, even if all of those who shared her bed ended, one way or another, being ruthless bastards.

But with her... it had been entirely different.

How could she explain...? It was not the carcass what she felt attraction towards, but the way she pleased her, the way she explored her body with coddling and care, not leaving a single spot unexplored.

And the way she whispered that unmistakable mixture between sweet nothings and ardent words freshly baked in the oven of her inventive... She sometimes allowed herself to think that she was not just having sex with her, but _making love_ to her. It was all so beautiful, so hot and yet so subtle and mysterious... rasping only barely with her pretty little fangs, never cutting skin, kissing every inch or her, making gentle biting which never left a single mark.

Sometimes her slow rhythm would change suddenly and, always pleasantly surprised, the rogue usually came to the other tiefling's arms to be engulfed by a passion never unveiled before.

Her tongue went downwards, and downwards... licking the space between her breasts and leaving a wet and hot path that left her skin planted with goosebumps behind it. Then that soft like satin lips started to deposit a trail of light feathered kisses around the roundness of her bosom.

The redhead tiefling shuddered as those kisses began to stimulate more and more areas until she no longer knew where the electric waves came from.

The long and dainty fingers of her partner started to apply more pressure in different well localized points until they reached the line of hot water where they were immersed... and traveled below.

The vapors steaming from the water contributed not only with stimulation and relax, but an atmosphere of ethereal surrealism, making them the sole two creatures in a space full of scented mist (thanks those herbal oils made by the tree-hugger) where only sensations mattered.

Sensations... and a deep care the redhead had been developing for her partner since the very moment she joined her violet-painted lips with hers, dragging her to a world of newly discovered sexuality... and she was afraid.

Afraid for what she was feeling lately, when her heart ran wild and full of a certain soothing heat each time they lay together in her partner's larger bed, intertwined limbs and hugged tails, naked and pure inside the warmness of the blankets, her thievery fingers caressing the much larger horns of her leader, the only mortal being who treated her kindly.

Afraid because she had seen the way she looked at the paladin and... perhaps she wanted no more of her and she was starting to elaborate a plan to drag the man to her bed. And the lucky bastard would enjoy it, gods knew he needed it.

And she didn't want to be tossed aside like some old cloth, she still wanted her kisses, her voice murmuring into her ear late at night, her warm body close to hers, her caressing hands...

It was true that the other woman had never told her that she loved her or something, but still...

Those deliciously wicked fingers finally found that thin line that they opened as a portal to another dimension, reverent but full of eagerness to unveil its secrets.

Throwing her head backwards, the burgundy-eyed fiendling clamped her hands around the edges of the wooden giant bucket that substituted a proper bathtub and spreaded her legs instinctively, allowing her companion to deepen in the Abyss where all fire just needed to be rekindled to start an unstoppable burning.

And, with extreme care and dexterity, that fire had its good time being rekindled, slowly, wetly, that fire started to build like a _concerto: in crescendo_.

The swollen lips of her lover drove her half-mad releasing wet kisses along her jaw until she could abide this tortuous wait no more and her own mouth found its way to her partner in a feverish union that reached its high peak when their tongues intertwined in a fiery sparring in close co-operation with the wicked fingers below and...

With a surprised gasp, the rogue moaned with broken voice inside her lover's mouth when she felt the crotch of the latter scrubbing thoroughly with hers, the lithe fingers never abandoning her inner fire.

One trembling hand went to the other woman's breasts, deciding that she already had given her enough and now was the redhead's time to elicit some electricity.

That afternoon, nearly evening, Neeshka learned how to reciprocate the many favors her leader had been giving to her body, letting her hands wander as they please, memorizing angles, curves, strokes and lines of a slender body, much less doted in certain parts than hers, but still beautifully constructed nonetheless.

And she realized how selfish she had been all this time during their previous intercourses, always guarded, distrusting, letting the pleasure come but rarely letting it go.

And now, with fear of losing that woman mewling softly between her legs for maybe another person who can gave her all the pleasure and care she deserved... she made her best making that night a special one, surrendering to passion, letting down all her walls, acknowledging this new feeling unleashed creeping from the posterior part of her brains to her very pulsing core.

And, with that last thought, she disintegrated in the scented mists along with her lover, who kept holding her until the shuddering of both of them dissipated.

And then, in the aftermath of their loving, their foreheads were pressed one against the other, eyes shut and half-opened lips.

When their respective cat-like eyes focused on their partner's ones, both women smiled shyly and reached for a kiss...

Until a discreet knock at the door exploded their bubble.

\- It's occupied! - shouted Neeshka's high-pitched voice with the slightest hint of annoyance.

\- Pardon me, I will return later when the bathroom is available. - came from the other side of the thick wooden door the measured and always polite voice of a certain paladin.

\- Casavir, wait! - exclaimed the yellow-eyed tiefling, disentangling herself from her lover's embrace – We almost already done here, just wait five minutes and you will have the bathroom for you alone, 'kay?

Neeshka glared at her half indignant... half suddenly hurt and sad that she had preferred to give priority to the paladin's comfort over their intimacy.

After a few heartbeats, the man on the other side finally answered.

\- I thank you, my Lady. I will wait outside.

Taking a deep breath, holding in her lungs the remaining herbal scents, the tiefling leader turned her head briefly just to witness a suddenly mute Neeshka getting out of the tub, letting the steamy water trail sinuous paths down her tanned body, bending to reach a towel.

Giving a pensive look at the water, the yellow-eyed fiendling, raven haired like a crow's flock, drained her long strands quickly and covered herself nearly indecently with a too short towel.

And in that guise she went outside, emerging from the bathroom all wet and half-naked, surrounded by steam, swaying her hips and her tail maybe a tad rather... blithely.

And when his eyes got used to all that steamy mist, Casavir got wide-eyed in the very moment he caught full sight of the Lady standing barely a meter from him with her long black hair dripping water, stuck around her shoulders like a gleaming dark mantle, her feline eyes now tinted with a golden shade looking at him intently along with an odd expression of seriousness, completely out of character in a person usually fond of laughter, jokes, songs and pranks.

He was well aware that she was wearing not a stitch under that excuse of a towel and became increasingly conscious of the lean and soft forms that lay under that cloth.

Suddenly tense, paralyzed, he not dared to move until Neeshka's silhouette emerged from the vapors. She was wearing a towel too, though in a fashion undoubtedly more decent than her companion. Under her arm, their dirty clothes were carried with extreme care, as if the rogue feared dropping them on the floor.

\- Your turn, Casavir. - the Lady muttered with soft voice, giving him an unreadable look before passing by his side, grazing slightly his left hand knuckles with her index finger.

Thunderstruck, the man felt that feathery contact like a shock of electric current emerging from his knuckles and going upwards by his arm with such intensity... that he barely registered by the corner of his right eye the venomous look Neeshka gave instantly to him.

And he remained in that still position even when the two fiendlings were left, with frozen body covered in sweat and his mind racing from one thought to the next, blind to the real world surrounding him and engulfed in the mist from the bathroom he had completely forgotten to enter.

* * *

That night Neeshka went to bed with a frowned face, and the next week she spent her time in the company of her lover and their companions with a mixture of body language very uncommon in her person: crossed arms, pensive looks, sulky attitude and, the most unsettling of all, shut-mouthed.

Everybody had noticed that but nobody had the willing to talk with the redhead tiefling... nobody, until Khelgar got out his head of the providential mug of ale and went bluntly to have a chat with his favorite "goat girl".

\- Spit it out, skinny bull. - he had said bringing with him two mugs full of his favorite beverage, putting one in front of Neeshka's nose – Tell ol' Khelgar whut's goin' on with dat long face all day. I'm startin' to miss yer annoying whining, ya know.

\- And why should I tell you nothing, moss-breath? - she replied giving a tentative sniff into the mug in front of her, like some nosy cat – This is something related to your monk thing in the church? Because I'm not buying that crap. Save your charity for someone who will appreciate it; you see, that blue-eyed goodie-two-shoes with a hammer will do, for example.

Khelgar risen a brow.

\- Whoa, goat girl, tis' s'new. Whut's wrong with ya and the lad, huh?

\- He makes my skin itch.

\- Aye, we all know about dat. - said Khelgar sitting in front of the broody tiefling, giving a long gulp to his drink – Ya know... tin can man s'sometimes a lil' high on his horse, I'll give ya dat, but s'not a bad pal. Even for a human who don't like to let growin' a decent beard an' tha most strong thing he drinks s'dat flowery water he calls "tea". - he added with a huge smile, showing all his missing teeth.

The corners of Neeshka's mouth rose a little bit before giving a try to her mug... only to start coughing almost immediately.

\- Holy horns! - she exclaimed in between the coughs – What the Hells is this thing, Khelgar?!

\- Ol' Ironfist Firewhiskey, tiefling! - he stated with a half moon-like smile, laughing with no little amount of archness – Best fine throat-burner in tha whole Sword Coast!

\- Yeah, I would agree with that... blergh... - she muttered under her breath putting the blasted liquid a tad faraway from her. One sip was enough than enough.

Waiting for the woman to recover from her first experience with the Firewhisky, the dwarf gave his mug another hearty gulp.

\- Now seriously, fiendling. - he started – Whu's tha mess with tin can man an' ye?

\- He's boring.

\- Aye, he's. But dat's not tha problem, right?

\- Yes, it is.

\- How so?

Neeshka sighed.

\- How a girl could see something in a dude so quiet, so rigid? - she said absently.

Both Khelgar's brows had risen so up that they almost touched the suppose-to-be-hairline of his shaved cranium.

\- Wait... - he started – Dunno whut dis s'goin' to, but...

\- She wants him. - came bluntly the thief's declaration – Our leader.

Khelgar remained a few seconds with the cognitive processes of his mind going on _stand by_ mode.

\- Huh? - he managed to articulate.

\- You heard that. - she replied curtly.

\- Aye... and I still don't know whut's wrong with dat. - he said cautiously. And the good dwarf was not known _precisely_ for being... cautious of all things, in words or actions.

\- Shit, Khelgar, do I have to explain you everything?!

But she did after all. Because she didn't have real friends within their group... not friends of that kind, the kind you can confide your joys and your pains. Her closest friend had been the yellow-eyed tiefling who led them, another _baatezu_ like her with she had related so much... and now, she could confide in nobody to release her troubles.

Shorty was, at least, the most close thing she could call a friend next to their leader... despite being a mouthy belligerent fat-bellied barrel knee-high.

And he proved to be... less thick-skulled that she had expected when he finally spoke.

\- I say ya talk with tha lass. - he said with conviction – She's not half bad... for bein' a devil girl like ya. - he added with a toothy smile, gaining an instantaneous frown from his devilish interlocutor – She will understand an'... well, at least she will give ya some piece of whut's on her mind, hey?

And that, surprisingly, if incredibly obvious, was the best advice Neeshka could ask for.

And she put it on practice as soon as she found herself alone with her lover.

She spotted the slippery raven haired tiefling later on the afternoon spying from a hidden spot, AGAIN, the incautious paladin helping Duncan in the distance with some heavy barrels since the dwarf resident never allowed an entire ale consignment to last more than a week.

\- You know... no matter how much you will look at him, he will not become funnier. - said the burgundy-eyed tiefling emerging from the shadows behind her – Sorry to disappoint you.

Blinking a couple of times, the yellow-eyed devil didn't turn or take her eyes from her prey.

\- Yeah, I know. - she said simply.

\- Of course. - Neeshka insisted, sudden bitter malice dripping from her voice – But with all those muscles and that well molded butt, who needs a man to be funny?

The other tiefling's shoulders tensed a little bit, but she didn't move.

\- Not to forget those piercing blue eyes, cold as Cania, or that statuesque face. - she continued with the barest hint of contempt – If the dude didn't talk, you would confuse those features of his with pure rock, you know. But with that immovable perfection... who needs a man to be witty and talkative?

The raven haired young woman turned so slightly to her lover, bearing a shocked look in her eyes.

\- But of course I didn't mention that bass voice of his. - Neeshka finally spat – So gravelly... so monotone. It probably could put a sheep's flock to slumber... but you surely find it appealing. Each time he speaks boredom through his mouth your knickers are sliding down your ankles, isn't it? - she added showing her lithe but pointy fangs in an irate sneer – But, hey, for tastes there is plenty of colors, right? Given that, who the fuck needs a man to be tender and assertive, huh?

And before she could know what was happening, a pale hand with long sharp nails came to her freckled face, begging be allowed to caress it.

\- Neeshka... - the other fiendling implored, getting slowly close like if the other were a jumpy little fawn, ready to start to run any time now.

But her thief companion slapped softly her hands, getting away and starting to rise her walls again.

\- Don't _"Neeshka"_ to me, I'm not stupid. - she said now guarded, with a neutral voice that couldn't hide the plain hurt in her burgundy eyes – I know you like him, and not just to look upon.

The yellow-eyed tiefling hesitated a flighty instant and, finally, she broke visual contact with the other woman, ashamed to admit what her confused heart was trying to hide all this time.

\- I am mistaken? - the redhead pressed.

The other hesitated again.

\- No, you are not. - she said finally, not daring to look at her, which cause more pain to the other fiendling – I do. I do like him. Very much.

\- Thought so. - said Neeshka with a defeatist intonation, sighing deeply. All her previous anger quickly dissipated, she couldn't be angry at her, she had told her the truth directly, something that her previous male lovers didn't have the deference to do – I'm not blind, that had to happen one way or another; you two are always orbiting around each other. He's always ready to assist you despite all the pranks you make to him and he's always protecting you verbal and physically from anybody who attacks you... I imagine that somewhat he likes you, and very much... while you are the only person, besides Shorty, that actually can engage in a conversation with him longer than two or three followed phrases... and I don't count Bishop because they only trade shit to each other.

\- I'm sorry... - the other muttered with genuine sadness. She didn't want to hurt Neeshka's feelings and had done it anyway.

The said redhead sighed again tiredly.

\- Look... you don't have to apologize, I understand... - she spoke miserably, lowing her eyes to a non-particular spot in the dirty floor, Duncan has to mop the damn thing one of these days, not just sweep – I mean... I won't deny that he's pretty hot, because he is, and I fucking envy the lucky bastard with all my heart. - she added finally with watery eyes, not daring to avert her look from the floor and it's dirtiness – But if you... like him so much, I will not interfere... I understand. - she repeated mechanically, not sure if wanting to reassure the other or to make her own mind to the new situation.

\- No, you don't.

A sudden silence fell between them.

Neeshka was looking at her with a single tear rolling down her tanned cheek, confusion written all over her features.

\- Wh... - she started.

\- You don't understand. - the so called and persecuted Kalach-Cha, a cute witty planetouched girl raised in a swamp with a slightly annoying penchant for jokes and a box full of smiles for everyone, who had the bad luck to have some githyanki silver shit stuck in her ribcage... that same person took a giant step towards Neeshka, hold her head between her pale hands and planted a kiss right on her lips, not giving a damn if someone would see them.

If first startled for such a change of attitude, the tanned, freckled tiefling couldn't resist such a tide of faced feelings... and ignoring that tiny little voice inside her head shouting her that this would hurt further if she will not put a stop to the situation, she kissed the brunette back with all her might.

Once they separated, they maintained both foreheads pressed against the other's, just like that evening when all the good and bad feeling had flourished between them.

\- I don't understand... - muttered Neeshka with big wet eyes, not knowing how to feel or what to expect.

\- Of course you don't, because I'm so damn obtuse that I assume others had the power to read my stupid intentions. - the Kalach-Cha replied anxiously, not having a single clue of how to even start – I... - she hesitated, feeling utterly dumb for being so sharp-tongued most of the time, but in the very big moments like this being unable to put her words and thoughts in coherent order – I... crap... - she sighed, fighting for words that wouldn't come easy – I am not... the kind of person who... _likes_ people easily. You know? - searching her partner's face for a moment and looking at the dumbfounded expression Neeshka bear at that very moment, the Kalach-Cha knew that she was not explaining herself the right way – I mean... if I _liked_ people just this easy, I will be bedding with almost everybody, right? - the look in those burgundy eyes grew in confusion – No... that's not what I was meant to... scratch it. - she stumbled a little bit, thinking the next choice of words carefully – What I am trying to say is... that I not just have to find a person superb attractive, but to _like_ them very, VERY much to bed them, 'kay?

\- Uh huh... - replied Neeshka unconsciously, not knowing really in which direction this conversation was going exactly.

But the yellow-eyed fiendling, noting the lost expression in her lover's visage, tried another explanation.

\- I... I find both Casavir and you very attractive, yes? - she stated, noting how her cheeks started to burn in unison to Neeshka's, whose face adopted an adorable dark pink shade – And... when I started to lie with you was because I _liked_ you very, VERY much, not just your pretty face, 'kay? - right, she was hyperventilating now – And now... I want to kiss and, given the opportunity, bed Casavir because I _like_ him very, VERY much, not just his pretty face... get it?

With that, Neeshka finally thought she was starting to understand.

\- Oh... - she babbled, hit with the realization – You... you mean that... uh... you... ah... you _loved_ me and... mmm... now you _love_ him.

Clearly relieved, the brunette let the air she didn't know until that moment she was retaining out of her lungs and smiled brightly. Her favorite redhead finally had got her.

\- Well... - Neeshka smiled sadly, her eyes filled with tears again – They say it's _better_ to _have loved and lost t_ han never to _have_ loved at all...

Now was the turn of the yellow cat-like eyes to wide open in fear.

\- Wh... what do you mean, Neesh? - asked her interlocutor, misinterpreting the words and utterly dreading the answer.

The thief rogue looked at her with renewed confusion.

\- W... well, you said that you loved me and now... you love Casavir...

\- Yes, and?

\- Well... uh... now you love Casavir...

\- Yes?

\- So you... don't love me... anymore...

\- WHAT?!

Taken aghast by the sudden shout, Neeshka recoiled a little bit until the other girl's hands found her shoulders.

\- No, no, no, you silly! - she exclaimed, relief mixed with exasperation – I FUCKING STILL LOVE YOU, YOU DOLT!

Neeshka looked at her with a dumb expression.

\- You... you do? - she finally dared to ask.

\- Of course I do! Sheesh... - the Kalach-Cha puffed like a horse – Why do you think I didn't want to say a damn thing? This is a fucking dilemma.

The redhead's left brow rose incredulously.

\- Because you don't know which one of us to chose? - she ventured.

\- No! Shit! I don't want to choose! I want you both!

Okay, that was... weird...

\- Wh... what? - Neeshka asked, jumping from one craziness to another – Both?! You mean at the same time?

\- Hells, yes!

\- Uh...

\- But I cannot... - the Kalach-Cha said defeated, looking at the not-so-clean floor of the Flagon, abruptly thinking about telling her uncle a couple of things about to put Qara moping the surface – Despite my not-so-spectacular dumb plan to get you to know each other, you don't like him...

Neeshka bit her lower lip, pondering too many things at so much speed in her mind. Obviously she still could retain her lover... but perhaps, in due time, that will prove not enough to the girl... and ultimately making both of them miserable knowing that she loved another one...

\- Hum... - she started, licking her lips nervously – W... well... he's easy on the eyes, you know...

The raven haired tiefling slowly lifted her eyes.

\- And chatting has nothing to do with having sex... - Neeshka continued, half scared at what she had just said, half softening from the look the girl gave her, all shining and bright eyes – So... as long as he is not a brute and he agrees... I wouldn't mind... kiss him and stuff.

And speaking of kisses... next time she knew, she was being covered in loud smooches all over her face by a beaming and exhilarated Kalach-Cha.

Well... perhaps this new arrangement could work smoothly and cool.

Proving that the goodie-two-shoes was not a tight-laced prude with a priestly penchant for chastity and crap.

Not far away, helping Duncan Farlong with straighten the last of those blasted gigantic barrels full of ale, Casavir sneezed.

* * *

 ** _Author's note:_** _well, hi everyone! This is my first fanfiction written in English language, so please be kind (but, hey, I accept corrections in things such as verbal tenses, it's a good way to learn ^^)._

 _This is intended to be funny and smutty, a little bit serious in some parts and with story. It will not last more than a few chapters, so don't be weary._

 _Ahem, about this little madness of mine, pairing my personal unnamed Kalach-Cha (nothing to do with my original one, Desdémona Farlong, another Lower Planar baatezu just because devils are cute ^^) with the energic, mouthy and adorable Neeshka and dour, serious Casavir. Just because, too much Casavir-Elanee / Neeshka-Bishop already and stuff, we don't like Elanee very much :D In my defense I must say that a reviewer from my NWN2 Main Story suggested something along the lines of "Yuri Tiefling" soooooooo :DDDDD_

 _Nay, hope you like this lil' story of mine, guys. Reviews are Pure Powder of Love, free and 100% respectful towards the natural enviroment ^^ Cheers!_

 ** _[ADDED:_** _a million thanks to Winding Warpath for his correction in grammatical issues ^^_ ** _]_**


	2. The trick the devil did

_**"Trio In Discretion"**_

* * *

 **Cap. 02: _The trick the devil did._**

* * *

There was something out of place lately.

He could feel it, even if everybody thought that he was somehow blind... or deaf, for all matters.

\- … And perhaps you can teach me some technique with sword and shield. I know the basics, you see, like swing it around and stick them with the pointy end...

Why people had those senseless thoughts about other quiet individuals? What, if you don't talk you had to be necessarily unresponsive to the rest of your five senses?

That's how big-mouthed people betrayed themselves and their true opinions.

\- … And the shield thing is not big deal, just blocking blows. That's just arm working in order to keep balance with its weight, right? I've picked heavier stuff back in the farm, that's not a problem to me...

Because he already knew what kind of opinion his current companions had in his regard. Others had similar thoughts about him in the past.

That was no fresh news for him.

\- … Casavir, are you listening to me at all?

Back to the present conversation, a conversation his interlocutor, the bold hair-blonded and ultimately good-natured Shandra Jerro, was making on her own in solitary; the paladin blinked just once and gave her a polite nod.

\- I am, Miss Jerro. - he said calmly, not betraying the inner turmoil his head was munching over – In fact, I was already thinking what kind of training will be more adequate and beneficial for your complexion, height and physical traits.

Well, technically he was not lying. After all he was more than capable to, paralleling to his turmoil, think in perspective about the matters at hand. And training Shandra was a pressing matter if she wanted to keep the group's pace.

Because paladins never lie.

\- Gods, Casavir, would you just call me Shandra, please? - buffed the young woman seated beside him – Like when we arrived at the Flagon together the first time. No titles are needed within comrades in arms, huh?

\- Let it be. - the slightly arrogant, bratish voice of their local Sorceress went in-between the conversation like a knife through butter – He likes to put titles to almost everyone, even if they didn't ask for them. - and bringing the cups of coffee and tea Shandra and Casavir had required respectively about ten minutes ago, the redheaded waitress put them almost under their noses – There you go. Three sugar cubes in the tea if I recall correctly.

\- I thank you, young Qara. - Casavir said giving her a curt nod with his head, taking the warm cup between his hands, feeling that pleasant herbal aroma going upwards his nostrils. He knew three sugar cubes was far too much sweetening for such a tiny cup like that one, but he secretly always had a sweet tooth. And back in Old Owl Well was impossible to find sugar of any kind... or tea, for all matters.

Or freshly baked cinnamon rolls, or butter cookies, or tea pastries, or blackberry pies, or strawberry marmalade, or chocolate muffins... everything he would eat gladly with two stuffed cheeks until near explode.

Well, he liked sweet things, okay?

\- See what I told you? - the redhead teenager told Shandra, rolling her eyes dramatically – Anyway, why you call me this "young Qara" title thing? - she added, turning to the paladin again - I'm not a kid.

Casavir inhaled air slowly.

\- May I ask how old are you? - he questioned suddenly.

The two females gave him a surprised look. The paladin was not known for making small talk with... well, anyone.

\- Fifteen. Why? - replied Qara with a suspicious glance of her fair eyes.

\- That is what I thought. - Casavir replied serenely, giving a small sip to his tea, not rising up his eyes to meet the Sorceress' gaze – You need to know that, until you turn eighteen, the correct addressing for an underage demoiselle like you it's "young".

Qara gave him a blank look for a few seconds.

\- What... you're kidding me, right? - she finally said.

\- I am afraid I am not, _young_ Qara. - he replied, allowing himself the small luxury to slightly emphasize her title.

Wordless, opening a few times her mouth like some fish trying to say something in her defense, she ultimately turned her back to him and started to walk the opposite direction, returning to Duncan and his blasted kitchen.

\- Unbelievable... - the teen said in a low voice while she walked away – And how should I address you then, huh? "Old Casavir"? That definitely will do for you and your antiquated manners, Sir Forever Alone.

There it was: that behavior, that treatment like he was deaf and couldn't hear what the girl had just said.

And the brat was always priding herself to be smarter than most of the components of their ragtag group.

Foolish, foolish girl.

After a few seconds, Shandra gave him a long whistle.

\- Wow... I don't know if I should congratulate you the way you put Qara in her place perhaps for the first time in her life... or I should chide you for taking verbal advantage of a spoiled girl who just wants to draw all the attention to herself. - she opined.

\- Probably the second option would be the most sensible choice, Miss Jerro. - the man answered calmly while taking another sip from his beverage.

\- Sheesh, Casavir... you're impossible.

Perhaps he was, after all.

He was raised in the ways of the Old Neverwintian Nobility. Old blood lineages, old customs... old prides.

At young age they teach you how to speak, how to eat, how to move... even how to think or how to get under control ( _ergo_ , repressing) your body language, your very instincts... until a perfectly groomed model of behavior, a puppet, a shell of a mortal being its all that is left of you. No wonder many nobles were secretly corrupted, all that caged frustration had to be freed one way or another.

And starting the due training to become a paladin after receiving the Divine Call at the early age of ten was not better for little Casavir.

Not even in the slightest.

If being a properly mannered noble was not enough pressure for a young boy who only wanted to play with his friends, climb trees and take all the sweets his stomach could endure; the entire paladin business was a new level of self-control ( _ergo_ , again, repression) where you have to be not only well-mannered, courteous and measured in speech and body language regards... but also you ought to be an example, taintless in spirit, body... and thoughts.

And never, EVER lie.

Because straying off the Path of The Even-Handed meant becoming the ultimate shame in a paladin, Defender of Truth and Justice, Example to Behold, life: a Fallen.

Many ex-paladins usually said that becoming Fallen was not that bad and each and every one of those who spoke that way deep in their relieved souls felt freed from the gilded cage of righteousness and fake perfection... but Casavir knew deep in his heart that, without his divine powers, he was... nothing.

Another warrior, another soldier, another piece of meat with strength and technique. But nothing more.

Back in Old Owl Well he admitted now that he had wanted to die. He had wanted to achieve victory through an inspiring death that would give the last impulse to his men to bring Logram Eyegouger to his ultimate demise.

Given this, he would keep his paladin status intact and he would have died with honor, earning glory in the afterlife without becoming a shame not only to his Order, his family or his god... but a shame to himself.

He knew he was a weak man. He couldn't help it, but he harbored a series of feelings too violent, too passionate for a man of his Call. He couldn't allow himself to be so reckless around people. Battle was the sole field where he could permit that in Old Owl Well, where he was not under the service of another cause that were not his own, and now... that tiny relief was forbidden from him as well.

Because if he started to talk... to show who he truly was, with all his weaknesses, oddities and flaws... people will see (oh, and they will start to avoid him even more than now) the cracks in his armor... his carefully constructed wall, made of half-truths bricks and apparent impassibility cement.

People will know that he... was just a man.

A very, very silly and naive thirty-something man incapable to act on his feelings over a woman.

 _Ah..._

Looking absently in the amber depths of his tea, even in his silence and his stillness, Casavir suddenly turned whiter and whiter with each second that thought started to settle into his consciousness.

He hadn't realized until today, until this very moment that...

\- CASAVEEEEER!

Following that shout, a physical impact and a weight fell immediately over his shoulders and a pair of slender, naked arms encircled him from behind.

The paladin grew overly tense in milliseconds and it was a miracle when he did not spill his beverage in the same moment his brain processed not only the feathery softness of those arms' pale flesh around his shoulders and neck, but a pair of lips dangerously close to his earlobe.

\- How ya doing, pally? - the voice owned by those lips created a slight vibration on his suddenly sensitive skin and he started to feel ticklish, a sensation he never enjoyed because it implied some degree of losing control over his body – Having tea like a good old-fashioned gentleman? Where are the pastries and the cookies, hmmm?

Not daring to turn his head, Casavir instead motioned his blue eyes to his right side until he met the yellow ones belonging to the Lady, who was looking at him intently with a huge catlike smile adorning her features.

\- Hiya, Shandra. - she added, smiling warmly to the young woman at the opposite side of the table – Tea too, like our good Sir Knight here?

Shandra blinked a couple of times before answer.

\- Uh... nope. - she managed to say, swinging her doe-like eyes from the beaming Kalach-Cha to the... pale-as-a-corpse man between her arms – Coffee. - and she raised her cup to show its contents.

\- And no cookies?

\- Eh... no?

The raven haired tiefling pouted.

\- It's four in the afternoon, snack time! - she declared happily – I'll bring some sweets for ya two and I'm inviting myself. - and before any of the involved humans had time to reply, she took Casavir's cup and gave it a sip – Yum, sweet! - she exclaimed returning the cup to the flurried man's hands and giving him a quick peck in the cheek before running to the kitchen like an exhalation.

An awkward silence followed such a strange exchange.

\- Hum, Casavir... you okay? - questioned Shandra after looking the look of pure fright printed in the paladin's features. She knew the man didn't like when other people invaded his personal space and their leader lately was doing so with an alarming frequency.

Casavir motioned with his neck rigidly, almost machine-like, in her direction and gave her a silent _"Do I look like I'm okay?"_ glance.

Not even five minutes after, the hasty tiefling returned not just with a huge plate full of the promised sweets but also with a glass of milk she started to drink like an impatient kitty.

And with that premise, Casavir found himself giving nervous sips to his tea in complete silence meanwhile Shandra and the Lady munched butter cookies and chatted lively about cheerful nothings.

The Lady was sitting astride on a reversed chair with her chin resting lazily on the backrest meantime her legs swayed forward and backwards and her tail danced slowly from side to side, cheeky and somehow provocative.

And she was far too close to him.

So close that sometimes her elbow graced his own when she gestured. She had a body language so rich that it confused him, sometimes it looked like she was only excited for what she was saying and demonstrated it through a series of hand gestures that sometimes included the full arc of her wrists and elbows that tended to graze him half of the time by pure accident.

But there were other times, when she was listening instead of talking, that her left arm, the one closer to Casavir, wandered apparently aimlessly until her fingertips somehow managed to found his knuckles, his wrist, the back of his hand...

And the paladin, between his nervousness and his growing desire of picking cookies as if there were no tomorrow... was incapable of doing the simple action of set aside the Lady's hand and reach for some sugary relief.

Okay... replaying that phrase again in his brains show him the double entendre of the above and Casavir almost choked with his tea. Why his mind had to be sometimes so damn...?

\- Casavir, don't you like cookies? - asked suddenly the Lady's voice meanwhile her eyes gave him a worried look, noticing his absent gaze.

Oh, _he did_ love cookies. And if was not because of good table manners (and nervousness too) he would pick one after another until they will magically disappear in his stomach.

Don't tempt the sugar-toothed with candy or they will become toothless.

But the Lady simply took one of the cookies and started to trace sinuous paths in the air with it, making her hand closer and closer to his face.

\- Tweet, tweet. - she said cheerfully – Lil' birdy wants to return to its cage. Open the door, yes?

Wait... what? Did she just suggested giving him a cookie as if he were... a child?

Briefly tempted to take a bite from her hand, Casavir reached for the sweet and took it from the tiefling's grasp. Their fingers briefly touched each other's and the paladin retired instantaneously his hand with his price in it.

\- I thank you, my Lady. - he said mechanically.

The brunette took another sip of her milk cup, observing him as he proceeded to munch the cookie silently.

When her lips rose from her now empty glass, Casavir stopped his munching, swallowed and gave her a fixed look.

She held his gaze for a long time until he blinked.

\- Ha! - she said – You blinked, I won.

One of the long, black as the night, arched Casavir's eyebrows rose slightly.

\- Hum, my Lady... - he started, not knowing how to put politely a matter so silly – Hum... - he gestured with his eyes her mouth.

\- Whut? - the said Lady asked.

\- Ah, you have... - Shandra added, trying to help in the strange situation – Over your lips. The milk, you know.

The Kalach-Cha laughed then.

\- Mighty Milky Mustache, huh? - she smiled, getting comically cross-eyed while she wiped her pointy tongue over her upper lip, giving the paladin a dumb expression – Duh!

Then Casavir's face experimented a sudden change that was quickly concealed by one of his hands over his mouth. But his eyes betrayed a slight hint of humor that put both women in awe.

While the yellow-eyed devil was beaming at the wonderful vision of that man... that man she... she had learned to love even with all his oddities... having a teensy weensy fun at her expense (or, best said, at her goofy attempts to make him smile, a futile endeavor until today); Shandra meanwhile was positively hallucinating in Technicolor. Was she the only entity with eyes sitting at that table?

Those two... were practically begging attention from one another. While the tiefling leader was unabashedly flirting with the paladin (in the most annoying and cutest way possible, she gave her that), the man was all eyes to her. He was paying attention to every breath she took, every move she made.

But while her motives were crystal clear... his were not so enlightening. Sometimes he seemed so concentrate in her mannerisms that one can say he was practically drinking in her with his eyes... but sometimes he seemed also extremely uncomfortable, pale, with his normally cold blue eyes looking desperately for a safe place to hide or a plausible excuse to give to get up of his seat and walk as far as possible of the horned devil at his side.

\- I think... - the blonde farmer started, getting the last sip of her coffee and beginning to slowly rise up of her seat - … I'm going to ask Elanee if she has something for insomnia, I'm not sleeping too well since... - and there, she hesitated – Well... since the githyanki. I leave you with the cookies. - she smiled weakly, changing the subject quickly – Have fun.

She completely ignored the suddenly terrified _"Don't leave me alone with her"_ look Casavir dedicated her and she bid her farewells hastily, not daring to lift her doe-like eyes to meet those yellow ones belonged to their leader... her recent friend.

Because if she read into her gaze she'll know.

She'll know like Shandra knew. Because it takes a woman to understand another woman.

Especially when is about the same feeling... for the same man.

Walking downcast for those obscured corridors of the Flagon, taking each step from the stairs leading to the upper floor as if a heavy weight had settled on her shoulders, Shandra Jerro thought about her entire time with these people... this strange group of theirs full of disagreements, arguments, inventive insults... and ultimately laughs and general good mood.

She got along quickly with most of its members (not Bishop nor Sand, thank you very much. The first so disgustingly lecherous and sometimes astoundingly cruel, the second so full of himself and always looking other people he considered inferior over their shoulder), but the ones closer to her, call it attuning souls or whatever, where the Kalach-Cha, always good and cheerful and happy to help her when she was a bit lost; Grobnar, that little gnome with a heart made of gold...

And Casavir.

At first, she told herself that it was natural: Casavir was the member of their group whom she spent more time with, after all he was that kind of guy you just have to ask and he will help you or inform you with whatever knowledge you want to extract from him about just anything (anything but himself in particular). And he was giving her sparring lessons.

So, with that premise, they grew used to each other in short time and she was too happy to see him at ease in her presence (mainly because she wasn't the kind of person who spoke much and she asked no personal questions, so he didn't have to answer things he obviously avoided) that she didn't realize... how much she liked to be with him, even if the eighty percent of the time was in complete silence.

Back at the farm, all those years isolated, living on her own after her parents passed away, Shandra had received a couple of serious marriage proposals, but nothing that truly interested her.

After all she was young and at the end of each autumn she always had to travel, selling her harvest, knowing new people.

One way or another, she was convinced that in one of those trips, she will meet her twin soul... or something closer enough to that.

But then, barely months ago, came this odd people asking questions, and then the lizardmen, and then the githyanki... and her barn, her home... everything she had known had turned into ashes.

Suddenly she was not a farmer anymore, but a sort of squire... of another Squire leader of a ragtag group full of strange people where Shandra had found a sole stable person who had helped her with everything without asking anything in return: the paladin.

His was the first name she learned among the group and his were the first kind words of reassurance she heard after her home destruction.

And, if sometimes boring (he was at least ten years her senior, what did she expected?), he was well-spoken, courteous and handsome. It was only natural that Shandra ended gravitating towards him.

But he already gravitated towards someone else.

And if _that_ someone else knew about the feelings Shandra had for the man, she would cease immediately her siege over the paladin's fortress and start to worry, to say Shandra that she was sorry and that kind of stuff.

And the blonde didn't want that.

She liked him, he liked her. They just needed to speak about it (and maybe he needed to get over of... whatever was blocking his brains to realize that, even if he died trying, he was – somehow – attracted to a tiefling... a devilspawn, yeah) and problem solved. Shandra didn't want to interfere.

Smiling absently, the young woman went directly to Elanee's room, where she already smelled herbal scents through the door and knocked.

After all, she didn't lie when she told her friends that she needed a remedy to her insomniac being.

* * *

Loving and hating his neverending cup of tea at the same time, Casavir was staring purposefully at the amber liquid in its depths while he took one cookie after another without a truce.

The brunette tiefling was observing him with the most big, glistening puppy eyes she had ever displayed while she completely forgot about the half-eaten cookie she was holding in her right hand.

\- I didn't realize that you liked these so much. - she said, smiling sweetly, pointing at the pastries with her eyes – Would you like more? I can bring some, my uncle wouldn't miss them.

With that said, Casavir stopped his arm in midair.

\- I am sorry, my Lady. - he apologized, retiring his hand to put it to his cup again – I am being rude by not taking consideration on your appetite.

 _You don't even realize how right you are, Sir Paladin._ \- she thought naughtily.

But she spoke very differently.

\- Nay, you can have all the cookies, if you want. - she said, giving him a half moon smile.

\- I thank you for your kindness. - he said very seriously. How a man can be so serious over a matter so insignificant like who takes more cookies? - But I must insist, my Lady...

\- I'm not being kind, I simply like to watch you eating sweets. - she said.

\- My Lady...?

\- It's so cute! - she exclaimed happily, returning to her previous puppy eyes.

In some way, he felt a hint of apprehension when he saw those eyes and, while he should have blushed, he blanched. Sometimes the blood didn't go where it should be going.

Okay, do not think about blood flow now. Not _that_ way.

\- Can I ask you something, Casavir? - she suddenly asked, looking at his face intently.

\- If you wish. - he answered patiently. He very much preferred talking instead of being looked with those eyes that way. He somehow felt... vulnerable.

\- Why do you always scowl?

That question... made him immediately scowl fiercely.

\- I do _not_ always scowl. - he answered perhaps too quickly.

Looking at him with big eyes, after a moment she started to laugh.

\- You're funny! - she said, rising an index finger and putting it in his frown, stretching the pale skin between the two dark brows.

Paralyzed by the unexpected contact, Casavir looked at the long finger touching him and, involuntarily, got cross-eyed.

Seeing that, she laughed even more, remnants of tears began to appear at the corners of her feline eyes.

Forgetting about the quick embarrassment settling over him, the man became aware that, unintentionally, was making a woman laugh.

It was an alien sensation to him... to entertain a woman. Usually, the opposite sex became bored or discouraged while having a conversation with him, even when his intentions had been to seem... agreeable, perhaps?

He was an awkward person, he knew that, and he didn't have a clue about how to proceed in social exchanges... but now he was like any other guy, socializing and... well, getting positive reactions from a girl.

As she laughed, she got her face completely pink, her eyelashes glimmering with the tears of laughter, her cheeks shiny, her mouth open in a toothy smile full of fangs.

She looked lovely.

A thought he, unbeknownst, shared with a hidden redhead rogue who, from several meters away, hiding in a shadowy corner, was contemplating with a pensive look the odd and strangely sweet exchange between her lover and that brick of a man who, surprisingly, was more approachable when he let his guard down.

And the only one who had achieved such a miracle was, apparently, their leader.

Divided between join them and leave them by, Neeshka finally opted for the latter. She didn't want to ruin the moment (because the holy roller would become unreadable again, per usual, and the efforts the girl had spent in getting him comfortable and even a bit softened as he was now will get wasted. In the very moment she'll step on them, he would find a way to get lost in order to not suffer yet another prank because, let's face it, when not in a mission, every time he had seen the two fiendlings together had been a prelude of a prank).

So she stayed where she could hear them, reading their expressions and, as the minutes passed, she become aware of the change in the paladin's disposition.

Or perhaps this was because it was the first time she was seeing it.

Anyway, this new angle gave her a perspective of the man she didn't dislike at all.

Her lover was right in one thing: Neeshka didn't know him.

And perhaps he was worth the effort she was going to make in her beloved brunette's favor.

* * *

In the next days, separately, the two devils spent a prudent time trying to get closer to Casavir. The dude was difficult like no one, specially for Neeshka who got a couple of times sitting awkwardly in silence beside the paladin, who didn't know what was going on and simply limited himself to read, drinking tea or starting to do chores while an uncomfortable Neeshka tried to engage him in a conversation.

Not that she cared about knowing something about him or make friends with him, she had tried that in the past with no avail. But it was pretty obvious that the man avoided contact with people he wasn't at ease with, the closest example: Bishop.

Okay, Bishop sometimes was a real pest, especially those times when he got bored, or drunk... or both.

And he suspiciously had these "pest times" when Casavir was near, preferably accompanied or near enough to the _soon-to-be_ damsel in distress. Usually the Kalach-Cha, Casavir's weakness in malicious attacks regards.

\- Stick around. - the ranger had said in one of those times, leering unabashedly at the brunette tiefling who had happened to be helping her uncle moping the place after a particularly busy hour when half of the Docks had been in the Sunken Flagon with dirty boots after a hard raining, munching tobacco and spitting it on the floor, smoking and throwing the cigar butts whenever they suited... even a few others had vomited after a way too many drinks – A few more drinks and you'll start to look good to me.

The tiefling had stopped her chore just a second, not even giving him a simple look, and continued to mop.

\- What? - he had continued, not taken back by her apparent indifference, wanting to provoke her – Has it been that long since you'd seen a real man that you don't have the gall to look at one?

\- The thing I don't have is stomach when it comes to look at you when you are drunk, Bishop. - had been her answer – Go and sink your head in a bucket of cool water, I'm sure that will help you to see things in perspective.

\- Oh, but I'll see _things_ in a _great perspective_ if I'd sink my head in _other place_ , preferably _between_ a wench's cups. - and he had given her a wolfish grin, predatory as the beast he had lying lazily on the floor at his feet – You offering?

Punctual as a clock, Casavir had made his entrance in the conversation.

\- Your tongue, Bishop! - he had shouted, every inch of his face red as a result of his wrath – Mind it or I will not answer for my blade while cutting it!

But the tracker hadn't even flinched. In fact, he had laughed, amused.

\- So, now we make threats, _paladin_? - he always used that word like it was an insult and not a profession – Well now, perhaps you have something stronger running through your veins than the horchata I thought you had!

And the same scene, through different excuses, played from time to time in different scenarios. The animosity between the ranger and the paladin knew no bounds, and often everything always revolved around the Kalach-Cha.

Well, for that Neeshka had to thank the goodie-two-shoes for defending her girl. She knew men like Bishop and she didn't want them near her lover.

Mostly because, despite their rudeness, bastards like Bishop were usually... charming in some twisted way and they knew how to convince a girl.

She had fallen many times for them to even care to keep the count.

And precisely _those_ musings gave her an idea.

\- You know, pally... - she said after yet another awkward silence in the priceless company of the holy roller – I'd like to thank you.

The man then turned to look at her, confused.

\- What I have done to deserve your gratitude, Neeshka?

Funny enough, she was one of the few people around him, besides Bishop, who he didn't address with a title of some sort. Neeshka didn't know if finding it insulting or not.

\- You see, I esteem my devilish _partner_ very much and you had been defending her from Bishop and bad guys in general. - she said honestly. After all, paladins detect if you are lying or not, right? - She's a good girl, and I don't want see her hurt or something, being in body or mind.

\- So do I. - Casavir nodded – But it is my duty to protect those who need it. That is what paladins are for.

Funny. The guy didn't realize that, while technically he wasn't lying, he was hiding a great part of the truth.

\- But she can defend herself quite well, don't you think? - and before she obtained a reply from the paladin, she added – However, even if she doesn't need it, she likes it when you jump to help her. You know that, right?

The man seemed so dumbstruck at that moment that Neeshka knew she had his whole attention.

Finally, she had managed to get through him. Now it was a matter of time to develop some degree of confidence, trust or whatever he needed to feel comfortable. Once they get to that, she will take the next step. This was going to be a slow dance.

Ha! Hilarious that the two of them, tieflings and thieves, were _courting_ a man, a paladin no less, a representative of a Law they didn't have an ounce of respect for. Wonders never ceased in this world, it seems.

* * *

Traveling with the pointy tip of her tongue the delicate line her lover's collarbone delineated over her fair skin like a frontier that separated her long neck of the slender muscles that marked her creamy breasts' beginning, Neeshka delighted in the soft moanings the other woman was making in her arms.

They were in the nude, sitting on the soft mattress of the brunette's bed, facing each other with intertwined arms and legs, kissing, lazily foreplaying, using the total darkness in the room to use their nightvision inherited from their infernal ancestors.

It was a new way to look at each other since the nightvision provided the world's images... in a different point of view.

Not only the spacial perception was different, but also the colors that painted a world of pitch black with gray and red tonalities.

It was fun looking at the object of your affections and caresses and seeing her in an almost ghostly way while her eyes emanated a beautiful ruby light.

With human lovers you couldn't do that without having the other complaining all the time because they don't have a clue where your tits, your butt or your twat are.

Yeah, male humans are that romantic naming your intimate parts so vulgarly if you're, according to them, "half demon".

Laughing softly and sweetly, the two fiendlings rubbed their little freckled noses affectionately, as if they were hidden children doing some mischief.

And the reality was not that far from that.

Besides Khelgar and perhaps Elanee and Sand (elves, you know, high developed senses, strange tendency to sniff the air constantly...), nobody knew about their _affair_ and it was better that way. Not because someone will be scandalized about two women making love, they didn't give a crap about that now their feelings had been exposed to each other and had been accepted, but because that let a certain air of mystery wrapping their relationship and it was fun and thrilling at the same time.

Starting to necking her partner with light pecks in the lips that ended covering a range from Neeshka's forehead to her very breasts, the raven haired tiefling smiled when she heard the other woman made some nervous sniggering and then starting to shiver when her left hand grabbed one of her bottom cheeks meanwhile her right hand came to wander in the vicinity of her bellybutton and crotch.

But the redhead didn't want to be left behind, so her hands begun to fondle with the utmost care that devil's button, so deliciously easy to tease, full of nerve endings.

She was nothing like her lover, for Neeshka was a woman of action in bed, devoid of any kind of subtlety, hungry, eager to give the yellow-eyed fiendling (now with those lovely eyes as red as hers) a sudden pleasuring finger here, a sudden bite there.

She was gentle, nonetheless. Because her lover deserved the same gentleness she gave.

Soon the two females were panting, her breaths labored, their cores impatient, their lips swollen, their tongues begging to kiss each other. And so, they complied.

They joined their mouths, pointed teeth and tongues in a lethal dance, fighting for enjoyment and supremacy; and they joined their wanting sexes, exchanging warm juices up and down, working the growing heat of their desire relentlessly, without pauses, not giving any trace of a truce.

Neeshka threw her head back meanwhile her lover, fascinated, looked at the delicate threads of saliva that joined the pointy endings of her upper fangs with her lower ones, creating a unique crystal-like effect in the nightvision.

Intertwined in their lotus flower position, they had their arms and hands free, so while the Kalach-Cha chose to rest her hands in Neeshka's shoulders to continue the move range between their slick folds, the redhead hold her lover's nape tenderly as her other hand took one of the other tiefling adorable little breasts, lowered her head and started to suck it gently.

They reached their respective peaks in unison, swimming with blind eyes in the ivory light of carnal bliss, mumbling _I love you's_ in the barest of the voices, enjoying the charm within lovers' whispers.

Recovering from their heated intercourse, the two fiendlings sighed satisfied and laid down on the bed, covering their bare bodies with the mattress, holding each other, seeking further comfort and endearment.

The raven haired tiefling caressed fondly one of Neeshka's lithe horns and gave her a feathery peck on the lips.

The redhead rogue returned the kiss tenderly and smiled softly looking at the other's eyes. This last time had been incredibly sexy and sweet, realizing that her now more active participation improved considerably their sexual encounters... but, still, even as satiated as the sex left her, she sometimes missed something.

Something a woman, as much devoted as she was to her body, could never provide.

Realizing what was she thinking about, she started to giggle quietly.

\- A lucky coin for your thoughts. - said the Kalach-Cha, looking at her forehead freckles sleepily.

\- Hey, that coin's mine, horny hun. - Neeshka kidded, smiling widely at the intended pun.

\- Nah, I'm sure I am who really have the true lucky coin, for I gotcha. - replied the brunette.

\- Silly.

And they shared yet another long, sleepy kiss.

\- So... tell me, what were you thinking?

Neeshka hesitated a little bit.

\- Well... it is quite rude and perhaps you will not like to hear it. - she said finally, looking a little embarrassed.

\- Surprise me.

\- Hum... - Neeshka doubted – Well, you see... I was thinking about dicks... Casavir's dick in particular.

After a short silence, Neeshka feared that maybe she had offended her... until the brunette started to laugh uncontrollably.

\- Oh my... - she giggled between the laughs – Actually, I DO think too about that pretty often.

Encouraged by her reaction, Neeshka digged further in the matter, giggling as well.

\- You know... a man of his height... Did you look at the size of the pants he wears?

\- Oh, yeah. - the other added mischievously – I bet he's well-endowed, like... how many inches is the media in this country? Because I think we should add two or so in his case, right?

The two laughed hysterically, wiping their respective laugh tears with their knuckles.

\- Hey, and what about his paladin business and stuff? - asked Neeshka, still laughing – Do you think he ever... did that?

\- What? He's a paladin, Neesh, not a friar with a chastity vow and such.

\- I bet he's still virgin.

\- With thirty... something? No way!

\- He's the most awkward man I've ever met. The kind who ask your permission even for looking at you with desire. I bet he is capable of going through a sacred ceremony before getting between a woman's legs.

\- Don't say that! He's a sweetheart.

\- Yeah, a sweetheart who probably answer sexual propositions with his favorite monosyllable: _"No", "no", "no"_ and _"I don't want to speak of it, my Lady"_. - Neeshka replied, doing her best interpretation of Casavir's gravelly voice.

\- Neeshka!

\- He's still virgin, I'm telling you.

It was good to be able to speak freely of these things with your girlfriend without jealousy from any part. It's funny and really relieving when the two of you like men and you speculate about just anything in the opposite sex's regard without offending anyone.

This was going to be reaaaaally fun.

Meanwhile, getting ready to going to bed, Casavir sneezed soundly and briefly wondered if he did get a flu.

* * *

 ** _Author's note:_** _hi again! After much struggling with words (and I'm damn sure I will have some serious grammar mistakes) I finally managed to write the second chapter of this crazyness of mine. I had much fun writing this stuff, I was giggling madly like a little girl :D_

 _So, what do you think? Qara being Qara, Bishop being an asshole... and poor dear Shandra, she had a thing for Casavir in the game, so I decided to put it here, even if it sounds sad._

 _Smut again! (every chapter will had some of it, yesssssss) and thank you again to Winding Warpath for correcting my grammar mistakes from the previous chapter. I will put your tail suggestion in the fic when the moment comes, don't worry, but in this chapter had been enough dirty jokes :D_

 _Well, I hope you like it and remember: reviewing it's free, 100% respectful towards the natural enviroment and you don't even have to registrer in this site to leave a comment :P_

 _Cheers! ^^_


	3. Devil came to me

_**"Trio In Discretion"**_

* * *

 **Cap. 03:** _ **Devil came to me.**_

* * *

\- I'm starting to think this is pretty pointless, you know.

Walking down the streets, zigzagging between the reunited crowd around the stands in the Merchant Quarter early in the morning so the wives could buy the next tirade of family bread and such, or the younger, rich adolescent daughters from the high-middle class commonly known as "Bourgeoisie" could gift their eyes and their flighty coinpurses with as many frivolities as they daddies could afford; Neeshka and her darlin' dear partner in mischief were discussing the late details of their seemly stale crusade against a wall.

A wall named Casavir made of a ton of bricks of apparent impassivity cooked in the impenetrability oven of his chilly blue eyes.

A wall who was precisely now walking several meters behind them, all steel armor and clanking, sticking his cold orbs of pure ice right into the very center of their respective napes. More than an escort, he looked like their own personal bodyguard.

\- I mean, look at him. – the redhead tiefling added after a furtive glimpse at the man in question, voice low as a whisper – You asked him to damn accompany us to the Merchant Quarter so you can buy… whatever sword you were talking about from this kobold merchant…

\- His name is Deekin, Neesh. – the yellow eyed brunette corrected her with the slightest hint of severity in her feline visage.

\- Yeah, right. – Neeshka said dismissively – So since you asked _Sir Holier-than-thou_ to come with us, he hasn't opened that mouth of his even to take in some air to oxygenate that rocky brain he has over his shoulders…

\- Neeshka!

\- Come on! He's not even walking by our side! I'm feeling like a criminal being watch by her private and very portable jailor! – the freckled woman protested, pouting like a spoiled child – Gimme a break! A little conversation wouldn't kill him, wouldn't it? I think I'm not asking something so complicated, sheesh…

Looking briefly at the sober man walking after them, the Kalach-Cha sighed, knowing the point her devilish lover had made. They needed to get Casavir talking and socialize.

And quickly.

So she resorted to _yet another_ of her _brilliant_ ideas: invading the man's personal space perhaps for the hundredth time since she knew him.

Quickly lacing her arm with Casavir's, she stuck her body beside his and started to automatically smile and talking nonsense.

\- Yo, pally! – she chirped gleefully – Why so serious?

The following reaction did not disappoint to anybody who truly knew the paladin: the man's body language tensed and he gave her a look that clearly said _"What I did to you this time?"_.

\- I am afraid… - oh, for he _really_ was afraid. Afraid of her and her sudden happy outbursts of pure terrifying love - … I do not understand what are you meaning, my Lady. I am quite content in fact.

Before them, Neeshka snorted. The Lady instead gave him an affectionate squeeze in his steely forearm.

\- So, you're happy now? – she beamed – Yus?

\- I am… content, yes. – the man raised one of his long eyebrows.

\- Do you like to be in mine and Neeshka's company, yes?

\- Uh…

\- What's the meaning of that "uh"? – the brunette frowned, pouting – Don'cha like us?

\- I did not mean any offense by…

\- But you seemed to imply that. – she interrupted, suddenly anxious, not quite knowing… or liking the way they were handling this conversation.

But she needed to know. Sometimes Casavir's behavior confounded her… maybe he didn't want anything with her or Neeshka because they were devilspawn.

And that thought, as surreal as it was, sometimes ate her by the inside.

Nevertheless, Casavir inhaled deeply.

\- My Lady… - he started. Always calm, always composed - Excuse my boldness, but… may I inquiry what is the point of this conversation?

The yellow-eyed tiefling for the first time looked completely taken off-guard, for she stayed blank a few seconds until she eyed him sadly.

\- Is it because the both of us are fiendlings? – she dared to ask in a tiny voice.

Before them, Neeshka's back and shoulders tensed.

\- No… of course not, my Lady. – the man answered quickly – Why would you think such a thing?

She bit her lower lip.

\- Because you are a paladin and… - then her eyes roamed down, finding the paving under their feet all of a sudden incredibly interesting - Well, we're devils and perhaps you find us… dunno, sort of wicked, undeserving and mischievous beings… - she finished lamely with her heart in her throat, fearing the crude way she just has exposed her true feelings on the matter.

At that point the paladin halted and the Lady found a pair of large armored hands over her shoulders while another pair, this time of icy blue eyes, searched her yellow ones from a considerable height difference.

\- That is nonsense, my Lady. – he said, his gravelly voice surprisingly tender, giving away what his deadpanned expression could not – Being a paladin does not mean turning your back or feeling irrational hatred towards those who did not choose where their blood come from, being poor or rich, human or non-human, celestial or lowerplanar. – he explained, his eyes for the first time not so cold, not so distant in an unreachable land of pristine perfection - Given this, how could I adjudge such adjectives to you? Wicked? Hardly, my Lady; for the great deeds you accomplished, sometimes even beyond your rightful duty to the city of Neverwinter and its Watch as you showed me back in Old Owl Well, says otherwise. – and his gaze turned warmer – Undeserving? Never, for one is not what their blood dictates, but their actions. Mischievous? Sometimes, perhaps. – he added, the most slight hint of humor playing in his voice and lips meanwhile his fingers guided her shoulders forwards firmly, hinting her to continue their walk with his right hand barely touching her lower back, reassuring her physically while a positively smiling Kalach-Cha trotted by his side.

And then, after dealing with the peculiar and ultimately annoying kobold trader, Deekin Scalesinger he called himself, who had written a couple of books about some Underdark attack business two years ago in Waterdeep written in first-third person with an overwhelming amount of misspelling, even lacking, in nominals, verbal tenses and such… after that and hearing the little creature sing with that raspy and out of tune voice of his something along the lines of _"Doom, doom dooooom, do-doom! We is all doomed!"_ , Neeshka and Casavir had to practically drag the new sword along with their leader, too kind and well-meant towards the kobold to simply telling him to PLEASE shut up, out of the creature's reach adducing how late it was, time to look more shops and etcetera.

With this, they ended (whoah, surprise, man) in a clothes shop where the two fiendlings spent a good hour while the paladin, starting to regret his decision to accompany them, sat in a chair enduring with the best of his abilities and self-control the way the two women went in and out of the fitting room showing him - without an ounce of shame – dresses that, as the time passed, were made of less and less fabric.

After a half an hour the man didn't know where to put his eyes without feeling uncomfortable and utterly embarrassed not just because of the amount of bare flesh he was obliged to look upon, but the poses the two tieflings were dedicating to him in a way that he wasn't able to think other words but _"cleavage"_ and _"curves"_. Too many curves.

Well, he wasn't made of stone, after all.

Several minutes later, while a whimsical Kalach-Cha was positively in a daze trying this and that outfit, Neeshka went out for a break laying casually against the same wall Casavir's chair was supported with. She was wearing a very revealing tavern short dress and she smiled mischievously when she noticed the way the man was trying to avoid looking at her.

She thought then of what had happened before, how the paladin had acted upon her girlfriend's distress, supporting her and speaking benevolent and very caring words of encouraging. Neeshka remembered how his voice, his very eyes had changed.

The man _could_ be tender, soothing and assertive if he wanted.

That made him, physique aside, desirable in a way. The redhead rogue had always gone for the cynical type, the kind who knew how to make a girl squeal and laugh. Casavir was the farthest type from the kind of guy who actually makes a girl laugh.

But he knew how to make a girl feel fine, cherished and valued. To make a girl _smile_.

And that was a rare quality indeed.

Approaching him cautiously, like he was some sort of jumpy deer, Neeshka touched lightly one of his shoulder pauldrons.

The man's posture went stiff instantaneously, but he did not move backwards.

\- Yes, Neeshka? – he asked.

\- You know, pally... this is the second time I actually want to thank you. – she simply answered.

By that, the man's head rotated slightly to the left where she stood and immediately regretted when his eyes landed upon her tanned, well-shaped, and bared legs.

\- May I ask why? – he said automatically, trying to focus in their current conversation and not in the sudden urge to get up and run away as fast as his feet would allow him.

Quicker than thought, Neeshka's long nailed hand took the paladin's chin obliging him to make full eye contact while she lowered herself to stand at his same height.

The bewildered look in the man's eyes was absolutely priceless as his gaunt and normally pale cheeks adopted a slight rosy tint.

\- Because you erased her insecurities and you made her smile. – Neeshka said in a voice so low that he had to make an extra effort to understand her – By doing that, you made me smile too.

And there… in an instant there was a connection, some sort of understanding, of comradeship they never found before in each other's company. Because they were meant to the same purpose: to hold their precious leader's heart in their hands.

And that same heart emerged smiling like a little girl wearing a daring blue dress which reached her knees, making her look like, despite her diabolic heritage, almost angelic.

Feeling two pairs of eyes from the two people she loved most upon her, she gave them a toothy grin.

\- I think I'm taking this one. – she announced happily.

But good things are irremissibly made to not last for long, because that same night, back at the Flagon, a Knight came to visit Duncan's place where all of them were celebrating yet another drinking contest, Khelgar's courtesy.

He came announcing himself with such pomp an authority that gave the merry group pause. His name was Sir Nevalle and, so he said, he belonged to the Neverwinter Nine.

Next thing Casavir knew was the hand of his Lady squeezing his with trembling fingers while her tail was intertwined with Neeshka's as the Knight gave his speech.

Luskan had made a formal accusation with her name in it saying something about Ember, the village near Port Llast in between their path when Shandra was kidnapped by the githyanki.

And that something implied a massacre.

The charges were grave and the said Knight informed the pale-as-a-corpse tiefling that unless they could find a way to demonstrate the contrary… Neverwinter justice would have to surrender her to Luskan.

But there was still an opportunity, and that was to become a member of Neverwintian nobility, a low-class noble who, by law, had to be processed on Neverwinter's soil and not in Luskan's.

When he finished, a trembling Kalach-Cha was cradled in Neeshka's arms.

But her left hand never abandoned the comforting heat radiating from Casavir's equally trembling hand.

Because he was trembling. Trembling with a fury he couldn't allow to govern him right in that moment.

Not when _she_ needed him the most.

* * *

The solution proposed by Nasher and his Nine was something that caught unguarded the usually cheeky Kalach-Cha: get her into a Knight's service as his Squire.

Sir Grayson Corett was the dude's name and, surprisingly, Casavir already knew him.

\- Do not worry, my Lady. – he assured her while they were walking to the Merchant's Quarter, the new Watch's settlement after the intentional arson produced in Moire's regard, that madwoman obsessed in making The Docks her personal dominion – For Sir Grayson Corett, while quite… particular in his own way, is a man of word and honor. He will not let you down if you prove him that you hold the utmost respect to the Sacred Oath you will have to swear before him and the gods.

With her left arm linked to her paladin's, the Lady made a pout.

\- Swear? – she asked, frowning deeply – Why I should swear something I don't really feel? Don't you see that's hypocrisy?

\- My Lady, do not go that way, please…

\- No, Casavir. – she halted, making her little troupe (say, a belligerent dwarf, a tree-hugger hippy, a grumpy teenager, a tall farmgirl and her favorite devil girl. Grobnar and Bishop left at the Flagon, the first to help to pay their bills, the second short-strapped by Duncan's neverending ale supplies… besides that he didn't give a crap about Knights and stuff) to immediately and mutely stop after them – You know how I am and what I do. Paladin trait. Cannot lie to you, right? – she said, looking intently right into his frozen eyes – Right?

The man sighed.

\- Yes, my Lady. – he begrudgingly agreed – That is quite true.

\- Given this… - she continued - … Don'cha think that a _thief_ , a devilspawn no less, who is still playing double-sided with the Watch and Moire is a rather poor choice for an honorable Knight's Squire? What in the Nine Hells Nasher and Blondie were thinking giving me a chance with a righteous man who deserves better than me at his service?

Yeah, "Blondie". Just because Neeshka was the best source of entertaining (nicknames included) when her girlfriend was sad and scared about an uncertain future at Luskan's Ambassador (the official offender in the accusation's regard) hands.

Besides, that blonde Knight, Sir Nevalle, was so damn cute, so well groomed and his face was so disturbingly symmetrical that he looked almost artificial. Like a porcelain dollie. All appearance.

There was Casavir's turn to frown.

\- Nobody deserves better than you, my Lady. – he said very seriously – And you do not deserve less than a Knight like Sir Corett. This, I am certain of. – he added in the same moment their entered in Captain's Brelaina office.

The woman was already expecting her and she briefly introduced the tiefling to the Knight before hastingly leaving them.

The first impression about Sir Grayson Corett was that he was the same as the Kalach-Cha previously observed in other noblemen: cold, well groomed, serious, imposing, authoritative and, of course, "a little high on his horse" as Khelgar had amicably called the issue… until he recognized Casavir.

Then his demeanor changed radically.

\- Are my eyes deceiving me? – the man exclaimed – Casavir of Tyr! About time you decided to show yourself, you disappeared paladin, you!

And after these words had been said, the lord Knight was literally BREATHING the paladin's personal space, his nose a mere inches from Casavir's meanwhile his armored hands grasped the other man's arms in a salutation that was too friendly.

At least for Casavir's taste.

\- Erm… well met to you too, Sir Corett. – he greeted tersely formal – It is good to find a friendly face amongst the general animosity between the Blacklake nobility.

The other man laughed, pleased indeed at what his eyes were contemplating.

\- Oh, do not play the innocent one with me, Sir Paladin. – he said with an impish grin – People talk, and words tend to spread a tad too fast in this city of ours, I am afraid. And they say how a renegade Knight from our beloved Neverwinter went rogue and became a legend in Old Owl Well, the infamous Katalmach who had been harassing the orcish tribes in order to preserve the integrity his Order taught to him. A heroic and… interesting tale, I must say.

Casavir's skintone went several tones paler than usual although he didn't lose his regular composure.

But soon the Knight's interest went behind Casavir's most well shaped back.

\- And what do we have here? – he said, clearly amused – The new prospect of a Squire, yes? Pretty little kitty you got for yourself here, Casavir. A pity, certainly…

Before the said paladin had the chance to exclaim _"What? No!"_ and got redder than he in a millisecond already was, the brunette tiefling behind him frowned.

\- Careful. - she warned, her pointy tail tense, showing her displeasure – For this "kitty" has fangs and claws, Sir Knight. – she added showing her sharp nails and teeth.

But the smile in Corett's face didn't falter.

\- Where are my manners? – he said maliciously – Blessings of Tyr upon you, Devil Lady. Sir Nevalle has told me of your… predicament, quite a delicate one, indeed. – his smile grew – And it so happens that I have need of a Squire. – and so, his demeanor changed again, going from cheerful to serious again – This is… _unusual_ , to say the least. Usually, prospective Squires spend months, even years, proving themselves before they are permitted to enter the nobility. But Captain Brelaina and Sir Nevalle both vouch for your character and your ability. And I have heard of your exploits in the city, as well. – and his eyes, blue as Casavir's, but not so chilly, nor so welcome as well, narrowed – Still, count yourself _lucky_ to avoid years of caring for my horse and scouring the rust from my arms and armor. Your need is great… so I will take you as my charge.

The elegant, thin as a drawline, eyebrow from the Kalach-Cha rose slightly.

\- And that's it? – she asked, crossing her arms and swinging her delicate tail from side to side – And I'm now a Squire?

\- Not quite so simple as that. – interjected Casavir looking at her reprovingly, for he had told her better that asking those kind of questions in such a tone to a nobleman. She was in no position of being, even slightly, arrogant.

\- Indeed. – agreed the Knight, nodding – But years of service will be passed in your case. Nevertheless, as your direct superior, it falls to me to teach you chivalry, so that you will not dishonor me overmuch as your Knight. Firstly, you appear capable of defending yourself, so we will not discuss that. The brotherhood of Knights is one bound by the ideals of chivalry and honor…

At that point, Casavir had grown substantially still and serious, knower of such fancy protocols as well meanwhile the rest of their companions were watching the scene in complete silence with a bored expression painted in their visages.

The Kalach-Cha, while Corett was explaining about the rules of chivalry and such things about something along the lines of, without a Code, being animals with a sword… she turned around to meet her lover's eyes, begging for mercy.

Neeshka's sympathetic glance gave her reassurance enough to man up and confront all the boring chatter the Knight gave her about some sort of vow, as previously Casavir had warned her, she had to take before passing some rite of initiation the man rushed to explain as well in a most extended version of that could have been expressed.

Meanwhile, even silent, Casavir's eyes never abandoned her. For he feared that she was not quite taking this as serious as the situation fully required.

* * *

Two weeks had passed since that day when her lover had sworn her loyalty to a random Knight who fancied Casavir's butt as much as she… and things had rushed in an incredible way that even Neeshka's quick reflexes couldn't hope to fully grasp.

First, the said ritual of initiation, which had happened to be a night's vigil in the fucking End of the World outside Neverwinter's walls in a stupid place impregnated of stupid symbolism called "Solace Glade".

But not much solace the brunette tiefling (as well as her two paramours, mind you) had caught there, for a close call followed by assailants hired with the sole purpose to exterminate her had been her first dish in her vigil.

Fortunately, the farmgirl had been there to balance the situation in swords meaning.

That first time had mortified Neeshka because of the useless feeling she got for not being there to assist her girlfriend… and she knew Casavir shared the feeling completely if his icy blue eyes spiced with a hint of electric anger after hearing of the incident had been any indicator.

Next, the unpredictable and utterly suspicious hand that elven wizard, Sand, had lent to their leader in order to frustrate any plans related with Luskan being the victor side of this dangerous game.

And there… there had started the quick slop the always cheerful leader got straight to depression when they had visited the affected village, Ember.

Until that very day, Neeshka had never seen her lover cry. But the amount of cruelty and destruction that they saw while searching for evidence of the murderer was enough to bring the brunette to tears.

Giving her some space, the group had limited themselves to searching for evidence and burying the corpses, while Casavir had dedicated himself to comforting her. The lucky bastard had gotten a kiss on the cheek as a reward for his unbeatable patience and dedication, a kiss that Neeshka had looked at with a little venom, since the starting of this madness involving some Luskan bitch and her assassination claims, the redhead tiefling hadn't gotten any love or cuddles from her girlfriend.

Okay, given the situation it was quite understandable, but still…

Later, they somehow had ended rescuing a boy, the sole survivor in the entire village, hiding himself inside a well.

The boy had promised to speak in favor of the Kalach-Cha and they had put him in good hands in the neighbor village: Port Llast.

From the said well where they had found the kid they got into an underground giant spider and a goblins' lair… to fall into a forest… where magics wouldn't work… where a dryad accompanied of several great beasts had demanded some orb in the goblins' power in exchange of some powder with the particularity that changed a person's shape… and then Neeshka had lost the count of how many stupidities and turnarounds they had had to endure until the Trial's day.

A Trial that was ultimately a mockery of justice.

They had just demonstrated with evidence, testimonies, and the clever staging starring the Kalach-Cha and the strange-but-true-to-his-word Sand, that their leader had been wrongly framed for the murder, and was a good person who actually cared and mourned for Ember's fate.

Despite that, even losing the Trial, the Luskan bitch, Ambassador Torio Claven, had demanded a Trial by Combat.

And then everything they had fought for had turned into dust.

It was a custom and a right in the Jewel of the North for both parties to demand such an outcome if the previous Trial hadn't been enough and they could allow themselves to fight for their lives… or to designate a champion who would fight for them instead.

In Claven's case her champion, a monstrosity of a man several inches taller than any regular northern human, had presented "voluntarily" and with a most impeccable (and suspicious) timing, claiming that "he had listened to those lies and he would answer them, because he couldn't stand seen the Ember's murderer walking freely after what she had done", all in Luskan's name, of course.

On the other hand, in the Kalach-Cha's regard…

\- Lemme take yer place, lass! – the impetuous and incensed dwarf, having had enough of all Luskan lies and tricks, feeling that justice had not been served, was the first to offer his sword to her cause right under Tyr's eyes, in the Temple of the Maimed God before Brother Hlam, who had seen that gesture with good eyes – Dat Torio, she's got ye matched up with a Luskan-trained killer! There's no justice in dat lil' viper suddenly bringin' a bear outta of nowhere to fight ye! Lemme fight for ye! – he exclaimed – He's a… a… dog! Not an inch worthee of ye, lass! He fights like Luskan fights: through poisoned daggers in tha back!

Those simple words had warmed the tiefling's heart, and not just in the brunette one case.

\- I mean… - the warrior was taken aback for the sudden gleaming eyes his leader gave him in a moment – Ye've show me dat ye can win in a battle through words n' such, yas… n' it might be opened me eyes a lil'… just a lil'… but seems to me we tried tha wordplay, and now tha real fight's here!

\- Khelgar, I really appreciate your intentions… but you don't have to do this… - the leader said, giving him the smallest of smiles. She was exhausted, mentally and physically, and the horrors in Ember had left it's toil on her.

\- Tha Hell I should, lass! – he shouted – DIS AIN'T FAIR, YE HEARD ME! IT'S… IT'S…!

\- You feel that it is unjust. – Brother Hlam finished for him, smiling slightly.

\- Ye're damned right it's unjust! – the dwarf retorted – Dis ain't a fight, by tha Gods, dis's 'bout honor n' fairness n' those people of Ember who were slaughtered! – and turning again to the girl, he added – 'fter _all_ ye went through, all tha searching for cluss and those poor villagers... to ley it all on yer head... by tha Gods, I _wanna_ fight 'im! I'll show 'im justice!

The tiefling put her hands on her mouth, suppressing a sob. Khelgar was really a good pal, a good friend. The best she could ask for.

\- You are allowed to choose a champion. – Brother Hlam informed – Do you wish this one to take your place?

But friends are for taking care of, not throwing into danger to fix your own troubles.

\- You honor me with such a generous offer, Khelgar. – she said, hurrying in her next choice of words, seeing the look of hope in the dwarf's eyes – But this is something I have to do myself. My mess, my task to pick up the pieces.

So after these words, she had entered crestfallen to the vigil chamber, a room dedicated to those consigned to combat in order to purify one's mind and reflecting on one's deeds, to somehow achieve the clarity to avoid the bloodshed in a Trial by Combat… or, at least, that was what Brother Hlam said.

This Rite of Tyr… another shitty vigil to prepare yourself to die? This was madness… Neeshka had to do something, or she would end up reproaching herself for the rest of her life.

After the tree-hugger left, always complaining about the human way to deal with things so abstract like justice and basically making herself useless, per usual, Neeshka made her stellar apparition.

\- Hey… - she said shyly, looking at her saddened girlfriend trying her best to smile.

\- Hey. – the brunette greeted weakly.

\- Just thought I'd swing by. – the redhead said, sitting next to the other fiendling - I didn't want you to get ambushed in the middle of the night again without me to play hero for you. Shandra mentioned what happened last time. – she explained lamely - So I thought I'd check out the meditation chamber. Big statue, by the way, but don't look for the donation box, there isn't any… and, you know, make sure everything was safe. – she added jokingly, thirsty for any smile, any indicator that told her that everything will be alright.

She was so selfish… after all the shit her lover had to endure through Ember, the accusations in Port Llast and the useless Trial… still after that, Neeshka was only thinking in reassuring herself, not wanting to face that, in the morrow, she could lose the only person who truly loved her.

The Kalach-Cha smiled a little only to suddenly find her eyes wet and her arms encircled around Neeshka's neck, burying her hot face in her girlfriend's shoulder.

Scared, not knowing what to do, the redhead rogue encircled her as well and spent a good time whispering sweet nothings to her ear. She was not nearly as good as Casavir was comforting a person… not like any of her previous dalliances had needed or confided in her enough to put her in the present dilemma.

\- Uh… - she said after a while, seeing the girl more calmed – I… I did want to say something, you know… I could... make justice happen a little easier, if you wanted.

The Kalach-Cha then raised her eyes to meet Neeshka's fiery burgundy ones.

\- Wh… what do you mean, Neesh? – she asked, hopeful.

\- W… well, a little corrosive acid, courtesy of Sand's shop, don't tell him. – she smiled, accomplice style – And that big guy's falchion won't be as sharp as it normally is... nor will his armor be as strong. It happens, things weaken over time. Entropy or something. Blameless, really… - and she hasn't finished when she found herself kissed right in the lips by a happier Kalach-Cha.

\- I love you, you know that, right? – the brunette asked in a whisper, caressing fondly Neeshka's cheeks, lips and chin, putting behind her ear a little strand of pointy stray hair.

The redhead only nodded and they kissed each other again before she left her when she heard steps approaching, fearing being discovered and tearing her heart apart not being able to spend the night, maybe the last one, in her lover's company.

So, feeling utterly miserable, thinking and hating herself for her inability to present herself as a champion not just because of her poor abilities against a Luskan thug, but out of fear, Neeshka ran towards the Flagon until she found the pensive and broody paladin and she, picking him by his shirt lapels, started to beg.

\- Please. – she started, her face mere inches from his – I can beg you louder but not clearer: pretty please, take her place in the Trial by Combat! – she exclaimed while her eyes started to see the man in front of her blurred – I cannot… - and then, her breath faltered – I cannot be the hero she needs, I cannot fight for her… Hells, if I was unable to save myself from those thugs when she found me, now I am not better. I cannot save her. – she looked him in the eyes, warm red against cold blue – But you can. You're a thrice-damned holy warrior, for Tymora's sake! Help her! Take her place!

The man had been listening quietly and soon, when he got up, she realized how tall he was, how strong and firm the guy actually was. Unlike her: thin, weak and a coward.

A coward in love.

\- She already refused Master Khelgar's aid. – he spoke, uncertainty tinting each word – Neeshka, I do not know if…

\- She's terrified! – she exclaimed – I've seen her and I can tell she would accept gladly any help you can provide! Don't you see?! That monster will squash her like a bug!

Casavir could testify himself as to the state of distress he had seen in the Lady the last time he had seen her, entering the Temple of Tyr and throwing herself at the mercy of divine justice; Neeshka wasn't exaggerating.

But, what if the Lady persisted in her decision? Perhaps she could find him unsuitable, even unworthy of being her champion. Those had been the reasons behind his inability to man up and ask her to take her place, for he gladly would oblige.

\- Please! – Neeshka's voice got him back to reality. He had seen that look before, that look of worry in the tiefling's face. Truly, she deeply cared for their leader as much as he did.

That set his decision.

* * *

Smiling weakly at the poor attempt Sand had made to cheer her up giving her some advice and some extra potion stock, clearly made by himself, the Kalach-Cha was left with her own thoughts one more time, fearing each minute that passed will be another of the few moments she had at her disposal before being _dispatched_.

She was positively frightened, but this… this was something personal, something she had to do herself.

Because she hadn't already told anybody that, about that man…

\- Forgive me, I did not mean to disturb the Rites. – that deep voice… she thought she was positively dreaming when she heard it, echoing slightly in the Temple's gloom – Or disturb you, my Lady.

Smiling a little bit brighter than before, the tiefling turned around to face Casavir who had been approaching her in an unusual quiet way. He could be sneaky when he wanted.

\- You're not disturbing me, Casavir. – she answered, extending a hand in his direction as he approached – You never disturb me, least of all tonight. I… very much prefer to be accompanied, you see... – she confessed rather awkwardly when he accepted her gesture and took her hand, kneeling before her, looking into her eyes.

Both of them stayed that way, him knelt in front of her, their hands intertwined and their eyes locked into each other's until he caught again with reality and cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed.

\- I was troubled. – he said - I thought perhaps by seeking you out, that I could help somehow. I know something of knightly combat, more so than your opponent, I suspect.

 _That man and knightly combat are two components that would never mix well, dear paladin. Only a man so sensible and charitable as you are could think that about a man like Lorne Starling._ – she thought bitterly. Because that man… that very man was, like a destiny's joke, her childhood friend's big brother. She didn't know what broke her heart more: that Lorne had turned into an assassin in Luskan's behalf or that, if she somehow managed to kill him, with what kind of explanation she will go to Bevil… and his mother, Retta, almost the mother she'd never knew back in West Harbor.

\- Are you familiar with the etiquette of the duel? - he asked.

She wasn't. And the worst part was, since she was fighting against who she was fighting, she clearly knew that no etiquette, nor chivalry will save her.

\- Do not yield to him. If there is a chance you can still win, keep fighting, for that man will not accept your surrender. – and, as those words had abandoned his lips, he felt a stabbing pain crossing his chest. Clearly he was not being of any help - Any weapons or spells are permitted in the arena. Each combatant is expected to fight to the best of their ability, with all the resources at their disposal. – she nodded and he continued – It is clear that that man's strength is in close combat; as such, there is no dishonor in keeping him beyond arm's reach. – she was an archer of sorts, perhaps that way…

After a deadpanned silence, he inhaled and spoke again, choosing his next words with extreme care.

\- … And if you do not wish to face him, know that I will gladly serve as your champion, if you would permit it.

Suddenly caught unguarded, the tiefling felt for the briefest of the moments the temptation to give up and accept, let another to endure with the heavy weight she carried over her shoulders.

 _But…_

\- Casavir, I... - she started until they were abruptly interrupted.

\- Well now, how sweet.

The voice that came from the gloom around them belonged to a man, a shadow himself of a man he was, that the paladin and the rogue recognized immediately: Bishop.

\- What are you doing here, Bishop? – Casavir actually _snarled_ – Visitors are _not supposed_ to be here.

\- Oh, really, _paladin_? If so, what _exactly_ are you doing here with her? – the ranger retorted, a twisted smile spreaded across his lips – Getting a last minute roll on the hay just in case Ladyship here present wouldn't get outta the arena in one piece?

\- How dare you…?!

\- What in the Nine Hells do you want, Bishop? – the brunette said, almost tired of listening shit between those two even in the eve of her most probable demise – I believed you stuck in your… I dunno, seventh or eighth beer of the night.

Clearly amused for the double reaction he had evoked in those two, saccharine as fuck the bastards, his smile got wider.

\- Drinking my guts out is not as nearly fun as watching how the weight of your _almost inexistent_ chances is sinking you. – he answered, watching with twisted pleasure as the face of the paladin contorted into a furious grimace – Or perhaps is the boredom our good _Casavir_ is here teaching you. _"Etiquette of the duel"_ , ¡ha! That's your first mistake: Lorne won't care about the rules, he wants to kill you.

\- Wait. – she spoke quickly before the paladin had the chance to speak again – You know Lorne? How?

\- _That_ , precisely, is what I am _not_ going to tell you, not this time and in the present company, Ladyship. – the ranger dodged easily – But what _I actually am_ going to tell you is something useful, something the poor lapdog here wouldn't be able to picture in that rigid mind of his: Lorne's barely keeping it together at the best of time, not the sign of someone in control. – he explained somberly - At some point he's going to lose it completely, go berserk. He'll be most dangerous then, but that's when you know you've got him desperate. He's not going to spare you, not after all Luskan went through to get you. – he added, arm-crossed and circling slowly around them like the wolf encircles the sheep – Use this information at your discretion… if you truly have the brains to do it, not like our little toy soldier here present…

\- _ENOUGH_ of your disrespect, you filthy…! – Casavir roared, falling for the bait until… he got picked a second time in the night by his shirt lapels by a devil girl who, instead of beg him… just planted a kiss over his lips that instantaneously silenced him.

When they got separated, Casavir was literally frozen in his spot although his gaze had become a little bit warmer. The ranger instead was not so happy about the unexpected outcome.

\- I think I'm going to sink my head in my _tenth_ beer of the night. – he declared, a grimace of disgust crossing his features – Because I'll need _plenty_ of alcohol to erase _this_ from my mind.

\- Good luck, Bishop. – the tiefling retorted, not getting her eyes out of the man in front of her.

After a while, when she was sure that the pestering ranger was out of earshot, she licked her lips and begun shyly.

\- I… uh… - she spoke clumsily – Casavir, I…

The man blinked, his pupils dilated like a drug-addict.

\- Yes? – he said in a way somehow… almost dazed.

\- I'm so sorry I did that without asking…

\- Asking?

\- Yeah, permission and stuff…

\- Permission?

Now was the tiefling's turn to blink until she decided to tempt her luck one more time.

\- Permission for doing this. – she said quickly, getting straight to his lips, whose she savored until both of them got out of air reserves.

Panting and looking into the other's eyes, none of them dared a single move until the tiefling blushed due to the silence.

\- Say… something, Casavir… - she said in the tiniest of voices.

And then, the man reacted taking both of her hands in his.

\- Allow me to fight for you in the arena tomorrow, my Lady. – that's all he said in barely a whisper before reaching her lips and fervently kissing them again.

* * *

 ** _Author's note:_** _what? not smut in this chapter? Naaay, I too like plot developing and just hooking the paladin with the two of them without some bonding felt... dunno, artificial. Casavir is a man that needs reassuring, some closeness, you know the type._

 _I'm so glad that three people are following my story! ^^ Honestly I didn't think anybody would follow a NWN2 story at this time (I mean, ELEVEN years after the game's release) and by the clumsy hand of a foreigner writer, yay!_

 _A million thanks again to Winding Warpath for his review. I'm so sorry I delayed this so much, but I'm studying Informatics and the time to write... well, most of that same time (which is little) I'm too fed up of the laptop to even start to write. I appreciate a lot your comments, I try to develop my level of English, I try... and thanks for telling me that it's improving! (BTW thanks for quoting the phrases I've put in my story saying that they're funny, best reinforcement an author could get)._

 _Also cheers to everybody, I don't know when I will be able to post another chapter, but I will start to write the fourth in no time, bye!_


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